


The Forest of Arden

by kikibug13



Category: As You Like It - Shakespeare
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Sidhe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-23
Updated: 2012-12-23
Packaged: 2017-11-22 04:24:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/605787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kikibug13/pseuds/kikibug13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Within the haunted forest, a girl deceived in the name of love. The fair folk do not approve of the fair maiden's fair deceits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Forest of Arden

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gatsbyparty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gatsbyparty/gifts).



> I hope this just goes dark enough, an that you like it!
> 
> Many thanks to my beta!

Rosalind woke up after her wedding night...

... alone. And on a bed of pine needles and last autumn's leaves. And wearing the doublet and hose that she had publicly, finally, discarded yesterday. 

Also, there was a pixie hovering over her head. 

She let out a sound that was dignified for neither Ganymede nor Rosalind and scooted away, hands and feet both slipping on the soft ground. She couldn't understand what the flying, glowing, winged creature was chattering at her, but it was a _pixie_ , and those were not supposed to be there. Or anywhere.

Nor was the dark, gnarled shape that loomed in her line of sight beyond the pixie. 

"Away from me! Away!"

Her voice almost had the courage that she needed it to. 

Near enough. 

The dark shape cackled in response. 

"Oh, fie with me, is it not so?" Dark mouth opened to reveal a few rotted teeth, by the light of the moon and the small fae's glow. "But somebody has been very naughty in the Forest of Arden. Have ye not, _sweet_ youth? Make a lad woo a lad and call him by the name of his beloved, make a lass fall in love with ye to get her to marry the lad as loves her. All sweet deceit."

"But I made it all right! I fixed it all!"

"Ah, but it matters not, ye see. For the folk under the hill, it is all deceit. It is all playing by the rules of a different game than the one as we want in these woods. And that, we will not have."

"But--"

"Hush now, mortal child." The figure raised its arm and the pixie alighted on it, crouching with it - her - little hands down on the sleeve in front of her toes. 

"Yer father knows not to anger the forest, little child. But ye've done him wrong. And now, now we shall take our toll."

"What dost thou seek?"

"Ah." The figure stepped closer, somehow growing taller, looming in the pre-dawn chill. "Only yer joy until ye have none left, and yer mind is a twirl as cannot tell right from wrong, and ye run out of tears, twitch at the smallest sound, beware yer own shade, do not know them as loves you, and frighten them as you do. Mayhaps ye will return to them an old hag, so they shall not know ye, or not return at all."

"But my father, and my husband, they will seek me out! They will _find_ me, and then--"

"What? Ye think we are so easily unearthed? Hush, mortal child. Ye know not of what ye speak. Find ye they shall not."

"They will."

The figure finally leaned close over her, and Rosalind could see it looked an old hag, whispy hair hanging loose beside its face, but its eyes glowed, unnatural and in an unnatural colour, and yet in all its ugliness, there was some eerie beauty to that face, and its breath was overwhelming. Frightened, and alone, for the second time in twice as many days, Rosalind swooned. 

 

By the ninth day, Orlando and the Duke both were frantic. So recently found, to have lost Rosalind again, it tore at their hearts, their souls, their thoughts. And Celia... trapped safely in her husband's arms, she wilted, her friend and sister's absence sapping away all the joy she'd found. 

It was a shepherdess, a friend of Phoebe, that stumbled on her on that evening. The woman did not know it even _was_ the Duke's daughter, only a poor, gangly creature with wild eyes and matted hair that flinched away as she approached, tried to run, but her limbs had no strength. There were bruises on what skin could be seen, and she would not speak. The lass did call for the people of greater importance, and then Orlando came, crying out in dismay to see his beautiful, beloved Rosalind in such a state.

And cried again when, coming closer to wrap his cloak around the shreds of Ganymede's clothing, she saw his face and recoiled back in fear. 

Any of those that Ganymede had promised aught to on the wedding day, they found, made her afraid. Even her father, and the old Duke's heart broke on his face when he saw that. 

It was Celia that could sit with her cousin, and help wash and clothe her, and tend to her wounds, the time spent out in the wilderness having taught her how to do such chores. Slowly, the fair Rosalind began to calm down, and when she overheard talk of leaving the forest, she first showed a sign she understood, begging with her eyes to go and take her with. 

She rode with Celia in a closed carriage, both the men she meant the world to far away from her, and, day by day, she was getting better. Olivier, torn from his wife's grief to her worry, began to see his own beloved shine through again, in rare smiles and rarer kisses she bestowed upon him. 

One evening, Rosalind was lying with her head in Celia's lap, the shorter woman's fingers combing through her hair, when Celia sighed. "Oh, coz, coz, coz, what happened to you?"

First since she came back, Rosalind spoke. "Arden lives." She swallowed, and went one. "And even as he lives, he is full of life, and I thought if my deeds had fair result, they did not matter. But I was wrong. 'tis why could find one another and reconcile, 'tis why the merry end could work. I thought my deed was it, but I was wrong." Tears were falling from her eyes, unheeded. "Tell me, dear coz. How long gone was I?"

"Nine days, and some hours."

"Three times three." The words made sense to Rosalind, but not to Celia, so Rosalind went on. "For me, I was gone... three times three times many times by three days and nights, days smelling of moss and green leaves, and nights filled with shadows and punishment."

"Who did this to you?"

"Who? Fae. Fairy folk. Even in ugliness fair, and when beautiful, too much so. They have no mercy, coz. Not for me, not for those as love me."

"Oh, so I love you not, again?"

"... no. But you, I did not wrong. You trusted me and that trust, I never broke. Your face was not a nightmare."

"But theirs were? Your father and your groom?"

"And Phoebe and _her_ groom, aye."

"Will you see them again?"

Rosalind kept her peace, awhile. 

"Not yet, but later." She swallowed, then looked up, meeting Celia's eyes for the first time since they both were wed. "I have naught but love for them. But not the strength to see them, yet. You'll tell them so?"

"I'll tell them so, sweet coz." Rosalind shuddered, and Celia gathered the cloak around her. "Are you not warm enough?"

"I am. 'tis words that chill me, but this, too, shall pass."

"I pray it so."

Haltingly, Rosalind agreed. "I... pray... it so."


End file.
